Generation Exhausted

Should he stay or should he go?

One last post about the election/Canadian politics, and then I'll shut the heck up about it and turn to blogging about more exciting things, like sunburns and summer in the city.

There's been some mention in the media about whether or not Stephen Harper will be sticking around as leader of the Conservative Party. I hope he will. And I think he should.

Since magazines are what I know, let's look at it terms of that, shall we? Magazine A competes with Magazine B for ad revenue, readership and subscription base. Both have been around for a long time. Both are finding that in a world where media seems limitless - TV, radio, Internet, print - things are getting a bit tricky. They have to find new ways of doing things to continue to attract their exisiting support, as well as gain new readers and advertisers.

Magazine A takes the "slow and steady wins the race" approach. They make changes, yes, but they're small changes, gradual changes, done without a lot of fanfare. There's no "Hey look at us, we're DIFFERENT now!" They just go ahead and quietly fix the things that need fixing, and leave the other things - the things that don't need fixing - alone. The readership notices without knowing that they're noticing. They just know that Magazine A seems to be giving them what they want. They might not like some of those new columns that pop up every now and then, but that's okay, because for the most part, Magazine A is still pretty predictable and reliable.

Magazine B, on the other hand, reacts like someone's just yelled "Fire!" They rush about, making changes willy-nilly, firing half the staff and giving a stern talking to to the other half. Overnight, they declare, "we're going to CHANGE!" They relaunch, rebrand, and before the dust has settled, they rebrand and relaunch again. They slap a "New AND Improved!" sticker on the cover, and send their marketing team out on interviews to tell the world how different, how much better they are now than they were, say, last week. Like me when I cook spaghetti, they just keep on throwing noodles at the wall, in the hopes that eventually something will stick.

But magazines - and politics - aren't spaghetti. Most of the time, major, shouted-from-the-rooftops relaunches are a colossal failure, in large part because enough time isn't given to the audience to absorb the new product, live with it a while, make a fair judgment. Instead of appearing progressive and reponsive, Magazine B appears scattered and lacking in focus, reactionary rather than reliable.

New magazines, new products, new politicians take a while to get used to. It's like when I switched from the Aerostar to the Caravan this spring. I've been driving it four two months now, and while I'm still not sure I like it better than the Aerostar, I'm getting used to it, and finding new things to appreciate about it every day. But I won't know until I've driven it through a Canadian winter whether or not it was the right choice for me.

Since the 1993 implosion of the Progressive Conservative Party, we've had Reform, the Alliance, the United Alternative, and now the Conservative Party of Canada. How many party leaders have there been in the last decade between the two parties and all their incarnations? Four? Five?

Likewise, the NDP, and their revolving door of leadership. Losing an election shouldn't be grounds for disposing of the leader. Not when that leader has barely been given a chance to show the country how they perform in the house. The Ontario Liberal Party suffered the same illusions from the day Bob Rae won the province, and it wasn't until they chose a leader and, you know, kept him for a while, that they were able to win again.

People don't respond well to drastic overhauls of anything. While most of us can embrace change as a good thing, too much change too often is unsettling. Harper's been the leader for about five minutes of a party that's about an hour old. Fresh from a controversial merger, he jumped right into a leadership race, and then Bam! A federal election. There hasn't been time for him to do much that would give the electorate a good inkling of whether or not A - the party is what it intended to be, or B - he's the right guy for the job.

Give him some time to show the party, and the country what he can do on the other side of the house. The "new and improved" made many people hesitate before casting their ballots - it was too big a risk. They did, indeed, choose the devil they knew, and that's human nature. In a year, maybe two, Harper will have his chance, and he'll be a lot more familiar to voters than he is right now.

Ok, that's it! Like T-ball, the election season is over, and it's full speed ahead to summer time!

It's Carnival Time!

Scroll down for late-in-the-day additions!

Welcome to the 23rd instalment of the Carnival of the Canucks! I volunteered to host this week after reading Patricia Pearson’s column in Macleans a few weeks ago. Pearson’s essay claimed that Moms don’t blog, and I decided to set out to prove her wrong.

While searching for today’s Carnival selections, I started to realize something – in Canada, it seems, it’s simply not cool to be a parent. Our celebrities – actors, writers, artists, politicians – rarely mention their families. Instead, they tuck them away in the background, and hardly mention the existence of spouses and children, unless those spouses or children also happen to be making movies or running for office. While most Canadians could probably name Bill Clinton’s daughter, how many can rattle off the names of Paul Martin’s sons?

In the election campaign that is now, mercifully, over, how many candidates talked about what they were going to do for families?

As the editor of a regional parenting magazine, this concerns me. Families – in every shape and form – are an important part of Canadian society. Our children will be the next generation of movers and shakers, and we deserve some recognition and support for our efforts in raising them to be healthy, productive members of society. The decisions we make as individuals, and as a country, will affect their lives every bit as much as our own.

That said, there are Canadian parents – moms and dads - blogging. And it’s not all about the kids. Many of the following bloggers go beyond the “baby blog” and discuss their views on politics, religion, education and more. They’ve combined the personal with the political, so to speak, and they’ve done a great job. If nothing else, it proves Pearson wrong when she declares, "Mothers don't have time to express themselves."

So now, without further delay, I give you Parents Who Blog.

The Mother of All Blogs is exactly that. Author Ann Douglas is a recent arrival to the blogosphere, but she serves up a nice mix of parenting education, personal musings, and occasional side trips down memory lane. In her own words, “…one minute I'm presenting statistics and factoids galore and the next minute I'm rambling on about my current projects, my angst du jour, etc.”

Andrea gives us A Peek Inside The Fish Bowl, offering quick glimpses of life at home, complete with renovation tales and trips to Canadian Tire.

Another Andrea says at A Typical Life: Just Like Yours, Only Different.

Kim is a close friend of mine. Check out her daily report on the status of her House of Horror.

Lisa at Simple Essentials is an attachment parenting mom from the East Coast. If you don’t believe that creative problems demand creative solutions, then check out what she had to do to keep the little one out of the fridge!

Teresa at the Heart of Canada is blogging from Saskatchewan, and although she makes only vague references to her own children, it’s obvious that all children and families are important to her. She’s got a lot to say about this election of ours too.

Dads are blogging too…

The most recent entry at The Dad Chronicles started an ear worm crawling ‘round my brain. I’ve taught that song to more Kindergarten classes than I can count.

At Dude, What About The Kids, the bemused father of two teens doesn’t hesitate to share his opinions…or the fact that his kids drive him just a wee bit insane.

Christopher over at Insert Witty Title Here shares his travels around beautiful British Columbia, his opinions about the headlines of the day, and more. Though mention of his kids is sporadic, his devotion as a father comes across in the entries where they are talked about.

Alan is one of my favourite Gen X-ers, but it often seems as though he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s a parent. At Gen X At 40, he blogs about politics, soccer, and life in general. The photos he posts of the Kingston area are impressive, as are the musings that accompany them.

John collects his thoughts about parenting, gaming, and other stuff at John’s Blog.

More to come later, so check back this afternoon!

Evening additions...

I call her "The Other Kim", but her blog is called WilsonWorld. It's a glimpse at life in urban Southwestern Ontario, and she blends tales of her family with her opinions on life, the universe and everything - with some random poetry thrown in every now and then!

A blog by TWO parents! Yet another Kim (is there going to be a Carnival of Kims some day?) has probably been featured in the Carnival before, but she moved to brand new digs this week. Formerly The G Spot, she and Darin can now be found dishing up daily commentary over at Bacon and Ehs.

At Two Wheeled Rant, Canuck Kev covers "motorcycles, family, work, life and fun".

Words. Books. Rants. "The banalities and epiphanies of motherhood." That's what Isabella is all about over at Magnificent Octopus.

What do you call a Small Office Home Office Stay At Home Dad? Sohosad! Life in Ontario from a stay at home father of two.

His Typepad profile says The English Guy is the "husband of one, father of two, ruler of none". His mantra is What The Hell Do I Know? Find out what this brand new blogger thinks about in Ontario as he shares an eclectic mix of musings.

And finally, there's one Canadian parent out there who doesn't seem to have a blog but really should, because I think he'd be hilarious. Will Ferguson, why don't you try it?

The 2004 Canadian Federal Election

In a word...heh. Some thoughts:

Like Alan, my pencil hovered above the name of Rosie the Clown for several minutes. In the long run, I made a local decision, not a national one, and it turns out that it didn't make a difference anyway.

How does the son of Paul Martin Sr. cope with the fact that he didn't win a single seat in Essex County? That's got to hurt. Especially when Eugene Whelan's daughter lost to a Conservative. The times, they are a changin'...

The pollsters are going on and on about how wrong they were. I wish they'd stop. They got it royally wrong in 1993 too. Remember that one? Thousands of Tories watching TV screens, waiting...waiting...waiting for the seats that never came, their hopes dashed by a tidal wave of Reform green that rolled across the West.

I'm anxious to see what voter turnout was like. There were some awfully close races. Watching the CBC tonight I counted at least five seats that were won with less than a 1000-vote margin. You've got to wonder if Stephen Harper is penciling in those ridings on his whistle stop tour for the election that's sure to materialize in the next year or two.

Or maybe it won't. Materialize, that is. The Canadian public is so tired of elections that were one to be called in another six months, they'd probably suggest that Martin and Harper just duke it out in the boxing ring and save us all the angst. Either that, or have the Liberals and the Conservatives play hockey, and settle it that way.

Anywho, what's done is done is done. And having spent the last five weeks or so talking about the election, the media will now spend the next five days talking about the results, and then we can all go off to the cottage or the lake and enjoy the rest of the summer. The season is too short in Canada to waste it talking about something that's already over.

Don't forget to come back tomorrow for the Carnival!

Can I just close my eyes and point?

It's Election Day. Just a few minutes ago, I asked the little daughter if she was going to come with us to vote today, and she happily agreed. Seems she really enjoyed last fall's outing to the polling place. Middle daughter then asked, "Who are you voting for?"

At which point, little daughter turned to her, and most emphatically, informed her sister that "Who you vote for is a secret!"

Seems she finally remembers the lesson from last October. I mentioned that, didn't I? At that time, I took her behind the cardboard screen with me, having outlined, step-by-step, everything that had happened up until then. In hushed tones, I explained that we believe that a vote is a very personal and private thing, and that people don't have to tell other people who they voted for. Hence the cardboard screen, the folded ballot, yada yada yada.

She took it all in with solemn face and serious eyes, and then accompanied her father behind the screen for his turn. As he reached to mark his ballot, she announced, quite clearly, "No Daddy, that's the wrong one! Mommy put her "X" here!"

So today, nine months later, she's all about the secret ballot. The oldest daughter, however, has opinions. She's buried her nose in the Saturday National Post to become informed about the parties and their platforms, so she can encourage me to vote in a way she sees fit.

"Don't vote Conservative," she said. "They want to scrap the gun registry."

"Wait a minute," her father asks her. "Is it better to spend $2 billion on a gun registry, or $2 billion on more police officers?"

She thought about it a minute, and decided. "They should split it, spend a billion dollars on each."

I stay out of these conversations. My politics and philosophies are such an eclectic mix of this and that, I don't know who I'm going to vote for. Or who I'm not going to vote for. Because this is one of those times that it's hard to see where my vote makes a difference.

Ever see that episode of The West Wing where the dead guy gets elected because people stayed home and didn't vote? It's going to be like that in this riding. The no-shows will have more power to affect the results than the ones that trek down to the church basement and mark the "X".

But I'll vote, because it's my civic duty, because it's my democratic privilege. I'll vote so that my children will know I voted, and then they'll grow up and vote, and maybe do more than that. I'll vote because it's one of those things that you just don't take for granted, even when it doesn't seem to make a difference.

Go. Vote. Because you can.

It's almost Carnival time!

While the rest of the country is dissecting the results of the federal election on Tuesday morning, Carnival of the Canucks will be focusing on something equally as important, but infinitely more exciting. I'm hosting, and this week's theme is...drum roll please

Parents Who Blog!

That's right, I'm looking for Canadian Parents Who Blog, to be featured in this week's Carnival. Send me your suggestions for interesting blogs by Canadian parents, and I'll list them here. And they don't necessarily have to be blogs about parenting, either. After all, parents are people too, and there's more going on in our lives than just raising our kids.

So send me your suggestions, and don't hesitate to submit your own blog!

Wiped out

My feet hurt. I mean, my feet seriously hurt. We played three games of T-ball today, arrived at the park at 10:30 and returned home at 6 p.m. I can't recall sitting down at any given point in the day, which means I probably didn't.

Which explains why my feet hurt. It also explains the sunburn I can feel on my face and neck, although I did start out the day with sunscreen on.

Adorable side note: The teen and the little one had put stickers on their cheeks, and the teen had taken letter stickers and spelled out the word "CUTE" on her shoulder.

Side note to the side note: Boys don't do things like that, have you noticed?

Anyway, she had "CUTE" spelled out in block letter stickers on her shoulder all day. All day. Late this evening, she took the stickers off. Which is when she discovered that the word "CUTE" is now outlined in the tan/burn she got today.

It really is adorable.

Anyway, I'm beat. We didn't win, not a single game, which means we don't go to the "ship." Which is okay. Really.

Honest.

Ok, it's a little bit not okay. It's not fun to lose. It's especially not fun to lose every single game you play. And it's hard, as the coach of the losing team, to not think that if you'd been a better coach, you would have had a better team. And maybe there's some truth to that. But we were the best coaches we knew how to be. We did our best. Today, especially, the kids did their best. And that's got to be enough.

On to summer!

It's not over 'til it's over

I was convinced - nay, absolutely certain beyond a hint of a shadow of a doubt - that Yogi Berra said the line above. Didn't I repeat it during the 1983 and 1984 baseball seasons, as I watched the Tigers - my beloved Gibson, Whittaker, Parrish and Morris - reach for the brass ring and then snag it? It HAD to be Yogi Berra that said it, I just know it.

But alas - after searching the Internet for a whole 60 seconds, I can find no proof. If anyone has a link, let me know.

If you hadn't guessed, my mind is on baseball, or rather, T-ball, which passes for baseball when you're six years old. We've got a playoff tournament this weekend, more baseball crammed into a 24 hour period than these kids have ever experienced. This is it. This is what the last 22 games have been practice for. This is the "ship".

Note to readers concerned about players' confidence and self-esteem - we all get a bobble-head trophy at the end of the year, regardless of how we place.

So my guys played tonight, and they were PHENOMENAL. And then I had to tell them all what phenomenal meant, although Player M kind of knew: "It means we hitted real good most of the time, right?"

They hit great,. And wonder of wonders - after 22 games, Player T, when told "If you get the ball throw it to player J" actually threw it to Player J. FIVE times. Second wonder of wonders - Player T stopped the ball at the grass FIVE times instead of watching it roll by him and then breaking into a sprint after it.

We played awesome. We lost, but we played awesome. And that, in the end, is the only thing I ever wanted from this team - for them to do the things they've learned how to do. For them to TRY.

Which, oddly enough, I did myself this week. Two days ago, I sat down and wrote an ENTIRE essay. Started it. Finished it.

Also got it rejected by Family Circle in exactly seven and a half minutes, but I TRIED. And tried again, as it sits somewhere else waiting for a response.

Might be a win, might be a loss. But I tried. And that's what counts.

Now what am I going to do with my time?

This morning, I finished off my last task of the year for the School Council. This afternoon, I went in, shook hands with the teachers and the secretary, wished everyone a happy summer, and said farewell until September.

This evening, I realized that it's a good thing staff is at the school until Friday, because I have to go back. I don't know what's worse - the fact that I've been carrying around a set of keys to the school for ten days, or the fact that no one at the school has missed them. Ooops. Back they go!

When they give you keys and don't hassle you to get them back, you know you spend a lot of time there.

Was puttering around the brand new pond a few days ago. We've wanted a pond for years, but I wouldn't even consider it while the kids were small. Now that "the baby" is almost eight, I decided it was safe. Or safer. So we put a little pond in the backyard last month. It's small, serene, no major production. That was the other caveat. I agreed to a pond and immediately hubby started planning. I suggested that perhaps that was one of our faults - that we tend to approach everything with a "go big or go home" mentality, and perhaps it would be a good idea to start small with this dealie. So we did.

It bubbles gently, the lower pond feeding the waterfall which runs into the upper pond which empties into the lower pond. The upper pond is slightly shallower than the lower pond, but both aren't much bigger in diameter than, say, a car tire. Maybe a truck tire. Certainly not as big as a child's wading pool.

I lucked out on foliage to surround it. First of all, we were able to create a gentle slope with some of the dirt from the front yard. Who knew that when you dig a hole seven feet deep and then fill it in again, not all the dirt fits back in the hole? I never would have guessed. Then, when I bought the bedding plants for the rest of the yard, the guy that loaded my car accidentally put an extra tray of begonias in and I didn't notice it for hours afterward. I hate begonias, by the way, but not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I put them around the pond. Plus my neighbour split some hostas and brought them over.

The seven foot deep hole in the front yard also yielded a nice selection of rocks. Quite a few rocks. I take pride in telling people they're home-grown. And I've had this little turtle sprinkler and a frog sprinkler that are useless as sprinklers but the kids have been using them as first and second base in their backyard ball games. So I added the turtle and the frog to the pond area. The kids will have to use something else for bases.

Then I found a nice metal spikey thing that's about five feet tall and has a stained glass butterfly framed by a wrought iron star at WalMart, so I got that. And also a cute little thing that has three frogs at its base and three glass tea light holders for citronella tea lights, so I added that.

I finished it off yesterday with a little metal "Turtle Crossing" sign. And as I proudly showed my efforts to the teenager, she looked at me sadly and said, "Mom, I think you have too much time on your hands."

Those reading the comments on yesterday's blog entry will notice that my mother has a sense of humor. To her I can only say one thing:

Mom, can you drive the girls to the movies, and by the way can I borrow five bucks to give them some money for popcorn?

The last day

Tomorrow's the last day of school, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. My feelings about summer vacation have always been somewhat conflicted. I'm glad that we'll be able to move to a schedule that's more in tune with our family's natural inclination, that of staying up late and sleeping in. I'm glad that hubby won't have to pack lunches every night, and I won't have to run to the store for bread at 11 p.m. And I'm glad that my day won't be interrupted in mid-afternoon to run and pick up kids.

But having the kids home for the summer means...well...having the kids home for the summer. And I work at home. And even though I have my own office, it's a disruption. Think about it - would you want to take the kids to work with you every day? Try as I might, I cannot shut out their nattering and bickering, nor can I ignore the pounding above my head as they play "let's drop really heavy things on the floor and see if Mom comes running!" I get tired of having to say "get off the phone" because they're chatting with their friends and I need to call an editor or client. Conversely, if I am on the phone with a client or editor, they have a nasty habit of sitting on the basement steps and staring at me impatiently because they havetocallSarahrightthisminuteaboutgoingswimming.

And when they're not home, they're out, which usually involves me driving, picking up, and paying. If this last weekend is any indication, it's going to be a summer where I'm either on the road, or saying "No" every ten minutes. They want to go to the movies, the pool, the mall, the friend's house, the roller rink, the park, Tahiti, and they need me to drop everything and drive them there, and bythewaycanIhavefivedollars?

So the only thing I know for sure about summer vacation is that "vacation" may not be the right word for it.

Life on the first base line

Watching the middle daughter play softball is a welcome respite from coaching T-ball. These girls are older, more capable. It's still a game, but it's serious. They're there to play, yes, but also, to win. Hopefully. You can yell at them a little. Needle them when they make a stupid move. They don't cry.

Those of us over there on the lawn chair line? Well, forgive us if we're a little intense. We don't want to pressure you, not really. It's just that, there's a lot more than a game going on here.

You see, girls' baseball ain't what it used to be, at least not around here. Most of us played back when there were four full teams of girls, enough to play against in the neighbourhood. Now, we're hard pressed to put together one whole team without pulling up some younger girls from the division below. And our parents didn't have to schlep us halfway across town just so there'd be someone to play against.

By putting these girls in baseball, we've strayed from the crowd. It's 2004 and 3 out of 5 kids are playing soccer. One plays baseball, and the fifth kid, well, he takes piano lessons, I think. Regardless, soccer is in, baseball is out, and it shows in the sparse scattering of spectators there on the bleachers.

We're mostly moms, but there are a few dads. We consider ourselves a brave bunch. Those soccer moms? They've got a nice big field in the centre of town, where 14 games are going on at once, and all their kids play on the same night in the same place. Sometimes on the same team. It's...convenient.

This baseball thing - it's not convenient, especially for the girls. Two girls in a family means we're at the diamond four nights a week, sometimes five if there's a practice. The diamonds are located all over the place, few of them within walking or cycling distance. The benches are broken and splintered, the fence has gaping holes in it. Most of the time, the grass isn't cut, and short kids tend to disappear in centre field. Even the ice cream guy doesn't bother to stop as he speeds by on his way to the soccer field. He knows what side his bread is buttered on.

The soccer sponsors fork out big bucks for shiny uniforms and well kept fields, while we spend the month of April running from WalMart to Walmart searching for gray baseball pants to go with the cheap cotton t-shirts.

So why do we do it, when it's obviously not the "in" thing to do?

Well, because of that double you hammered out tonight. And that pop fly you caught, and the way you stole home, the tag so close we all held our breath waiting for the umpire's call. You've found your game, and we're with you all the way.